


The Madness Wherein She Now Raves

by Talik_Sanis



Series: Miraculous Crackfics [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Is Sunshine, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Identity Reveal, Aged-Up Character(s), Confident Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Confused Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Crack Fic, Dorks in Love, F/M, Fandom, Flustered Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Hot Mess Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, It's What The Internet Is For, Just to Taste in Chapter IV, Lila Rossi salt, M/M, Marinette Discovers Porn, Marinette Does Not Ship It, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Ships It, Misunderstandings, Or "How I Learned to Stop Worrying And Love the Yaoi", Sexual Fantasy, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talik_Sanis/pseuds/Talik_Sanis
Summary: While browsing Adrien Agreste fan sites, Marinette uncovers something that leads to a disturbing realization about her long-time crush.Tikki might just survive the ensuing psychotic break.Adrien probably won't. He will die many "little deaths" before the end, most of them at his own hand, though he may set in motion Lila's downfall purely by spiteful chance.Or "Marinette discovers smutty Adrien Agreste x Chat Noir fan-art. Everyone goes insane."
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir, Plagg/Camembert
Series: Miraculous Crackfics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755580
Comments: 155
Kudos: 547





	1. Oh, That Way Madness Lies; Let Me Shun That.

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for suggestive content, references to "self-pleasuring," and descriptions of sexual situations without actual smut.

Putting aside her only _slightly_ stalkerish drop-down schedule of Adrien's activities, 10GB collection of high quality Adrien Agreste modelling photos – including the racier, unpublished set of swimsuit shots that Gabriel Agreste had deemed unfit for publication in light of his son's pristine "choir boy" image – and some less than wholesome nighttime thoughts on her part (she was a healthy young woman with _needs_ , after all), Marinette had never allowed herself to delve into the seedier side of Adrien fandom.

Her admitted obsession with the teen heartthrob had led her to collect some material that was not _entirely_ chaste; however, she had _never_ strayed across a self-imposed, and Tikki defended, borderline into anything lewd, like erotic fan art, photoshops, or steamy fiction, though there was an unending supply online. 

Adrien was, it seemed, God's gift to teen girls everywhere.

And, of course, to some teen guys.

Not that there was anything wrong with that.

Except for the fact that it would destroy Marinette's world if Adrien was gay because then he would look at her with those sad puppy eyes, infinitely kind, and tell her that he was already in love with a great guy, and so she could never get to have her three children, hamster, and house in the city, and her internship at the house of Gabriel would fall through because she was too much of a flaky klutz to ever work there with Adrien and his doting boyfriend making eyes at each-other all the time, and they'd ask her to make their white wedding tuxedos because of course Adrien was so shy and proper and his father so controlling that he would wait for his wedding night and _oh God_ Adrien Agreste on his wedding night...

...and that may have been getting off topic.

The point was that there was a lot of smut involving Adrien out there, some of which included other men, mostly models of a similar age though there was some weird "daddy kink" smut that was floating around out there involving Adrien and older men. 

Tikki floated about Marinette's head, slapping her ... nubs together in lieu of snapping her non-existent fingers in an effort to attract her wielder's attention.

The image that stared Marinette in the face as she sat in front of her computer screen was not of Adrien and another model.

Also, was she drooling?

She swabbed the back of her hand over her mouth.

Yes. Yes she was.

She should stop that.

But she wasn't going to.

Adrien and Chat Noir's physiques were remarkably similar, with Adrien only slightly more on the svelte side and Chat most robust and thick.

In ... more than one way. 

She licked her lips slowly.

Marinette's eye – one eye alone; the other was busy _thankyouverymuch_ – twitched upwards for a moment. No. That image did not belong in the “SFW” section.

Not with Adrien's hand...

And Chat Noir's bell down past his...

And Adrien kissing...

And Chat's pert...

Shit.

This image did not belong in the SFW section. Wait. _It didn't belong in the SFW section_ \- the _well-moderated_ SFW section.

Right click. Save As. Enter.

“Marinette!”

_Marinette is not home right now. Also, she's hearing voices._

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

Marinette Dupain-Cheng's cheek stung - possibly because a small deity, often confined to the girl's earrings, had ceased tapping her hands - for lack of a better word - together and had just smacked her across the face.

Apparently, gods, even tiny ones, packed a punch.

“Ow!” Marinette exclaimed, hand flying to her cheek which no doubt would have reddening were it not already well-stained with her fiery blush. “What was that for?”

“You delete that picture right now!” Tikki commanded, flitting about in angry circles around Marinette's head. “It's not wholesome!”

“Ug- well, see-” Marinette stuttered and shifted in her chair _for no other reason than her discomfort at Tikki's withering glare and you couldn't get her to say otherwise for all the fabric in Gabriel Agreste's storehouses_.

“Marinette,” Tikki began in a motherly tone that Marinette had assiduously striven to avoid hearing ever again from either Sabine Chang or her Kwami. It was the audible instantiation of disappointment and always made her want to throw up and cry.

Marinette bolted out of her chair, leaping to the window in a spastic flurry.

“Oh no!” she screamed out, causing Tikki to cock her head to the side and wonder if _this_ was finally it. Was this the moment that Marinette broke? There were always signs – suggestions that she was teetering on the knife's edge of madness.

The image of Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste in the throes of what Tikki knew to be a fundamentally onanistic passion leered at her from the screen.

She never thought that _porn_ would be the thing to do it, but what did an immortal deity of creation know about the grim recesses of a teenage girl's mind?

Some things were not meant for gods to know.

"An Akuma is attacking the city!" Marinette screeched, gesturing wildly towards the cool, quiet Parisian evening beyond her window with both hands. Yes. That was precisely it. There was no evidence to suggest that an Akuma was _not_ , at this very moment, attacking the city. That kind of clandestine assault was _exactly_ the kind of subtle approach that Hawkmoth was know for.

From the bakery below, the last customers of the day began casting their eyes about, frantic, some ducking deeper into the store while others crowded the windows to try to catch a glimpse of the "Akuma" spoken of by the mysterious voice from the heavens above them. One of the former even went so far as to dive behind the counter, leaping the cash register in one fluid motion.

Tom Dupain had to pick the cowering man up by the scruff and deposit him gently on the other side of the counter once again, encouraging him to pursue a career in gymnastics. He could make the French Olympic roster with some training.

He then shared a weary and wary glance with his wife.

Tikki, meanwhile began to spiral towards the floor in shock, mouth agape, before righting herself and trying to reply. Before she had the chance to truly recover -

"Tikki! Spots on!"

And the little goddess could only wail as she was dragged with unfathomable force, the like of which she'd never felt before, into Marinette's earrings.

It took almost no time at all for Marinette to save the image on her screen to the cloud, a memory stick, her backup hard-drive, her cell phone, and a google drive, send it to herself by email, and re-post it in the NSFW section of the Adrien Agreste fan site (giving proper credit to the artist and original poster, of course).

Or it wouldn't have taken her much time, if not for the fact that she spent about another ten minutes staring at her screen the moment after she sat down.

It was, in retrospect, a good thing that her parents were used to her outbursts. She probably wouldn't have even noticed had they walked into their daughter's room only to find the heroine of Paris sitting in front of Marinette's computer staring at Adrien Agreste porn.

An hour, Marinette reasoned, was a suitable amount of time for her to grapple with yet another one of Hawkmoth's fiendish Akumas. That was good cover, and Marinette preened at her presence of mind.

Fifteen minutes were spent sketching an outline of his character and Akumatization history.

She got about two minutes of work done, her gaze drifting over to the image displayed on her computer screen time and again.

How could she simply ignore the greatest work of art mankind had ever produced? One did not simply disregard a masterpiece.

She got as far as "Defenestrator" because she thought it sounded funny.

He fell out a window ... for some reason, and Hawkmoth gave him the power to ... turn people into windows .... that he leapt through.

For some reason.

"Wow," she muttered at the end of her fifteen minutes, tapping her pencil against the edge of her sketchbook.

"This is hard. No wonder Hawkmoth comes up with so many lame Akumas."

Another fifteen minutes were devoted to a thorough examination of her skin-tight suit which she confirmed did not have a zipper, buttons, straps, or any other means of removal.

And then, of course, a half-hour of spiraling panic.

Yes, the thought of Adrien and Chat Noir _together_ was – or, with that image soon would be -- the stuff of teenage girls' late-night fantasies the country over.

But, but, but...

What was it that Adrien had asked after she had regaled him with the tale of her partnership with Chat Noir as they battled Evillustrator?  
  
 _Was Chat Noir cool?_

He had plied her with questions regarding the hero and his mannerisms and even the state of his _musculature_ , eager and hanging on every word of praise and deflating slightly at the smallest insult or jibe directed at that mangy cat.

And there was that day after school when the students in Miss Bustier's class had bonded over a discussion of the heroes, and both Nino and Alya had revealed that Ladybug and Chat Noir were on their respective “celebrity free pass lists” when it came to everything up to and including kissing, cuddling, and canoodling.

That had, of course, shocked Marinette, leading her to express confusion over Alya's revelation. Wasn't she straight? Oh, she was indeed, but, hey, every girl is gay for Ladybug.

Marinette scoffed at the idea and searched her classmates' faces for support.

She found none.

Even Alix, who had always come across as pretty much full-fledged aromantic and asexual, nodded her assent sagely.

Adrien had seemed almost appalled by his best friend's interest in Chat Noir, and had blushed crimson at the near-unanimous opinion of his classmates that, between all the miraculous heroes, the cat had the “best butt.” Only Nino had objected, suggesting that it belonged to Rena Rouge.

Marinette hadn't exactly been thrilled to be party to Nino and Alya's clandestine flirting, but her best friend was certainly puffed up for the remainder of the day.

All of this led to only one, inescapable conclusion.

_Adrien Agreste had a crush on Chat Noir._

Who would have thought that porn, of all things, would lead her to the most stunning revelation of her young life?

Granted it was artistic, if not tasteful, porn, but still.

And cue the half-hour of ruinous, terrified musing until she finally released her transformation.

A sputtering Tikki was disgorged from Marinette's earrings, tumbling to the floor, rolling in a little red ball along the ground, only to collide face-first with the leg of Marinette's sewing desk.

Being functionally indestructible, she found that only her pride was injured as she climbed to her feet and took to the air. She floated over to her young wielder who seemed to be having some sort of breakdown, rocking slowly back and forth in her chair as she huddled up, clutching her knees to her chest.

“Marinette?” Tikki inquired softly, landing on the desk between Marinette and her keyboard.

“It's over, Tikki!” the girl wailed and sniffled.

The aforementioned goddess stared, pursing her lips.

“What?”

“Adrien is in love with Chat Noir,” Marinette whimpered and smacked a palm over her eyes, rubbing them roughly.

_What?_

"Our future children are dead!"

_What the what?_

"Hugo, Luis, and Emma will never even get to be conceived before they die!"

_What happened while I was in the earrings?_

“Marinette, I'm sure that this is just a misunderstanding. Adrien has only ever seemed to like girls: Kagami and that 'mystery' girl he told you about,” Tikki reassured her charge. She was getting too old for this.

“But don't you get it, Tikki? His father forced him together with Kagami and not even _Nino_ knows a single thing about the girl that Adrien is supposed to be in-love with! No one has seen her; she doesn't even have a name.”

This, Tikki realized, was not going anywhere good.

“Adrien made her up!”

Nope. Nowhere good at all.

“He was just trying to come up with an excuse to hide the fact that he likes boys because his father is super traditional and probably homophobic and wouldn't want to offend any potential customers by having an openly gay son, so Adrien's lying about this mystery girl so that he doesn't have to date girls.” Her shuddering increased in intensity as her wail grew even more piercing. “Because he doesn't _like_ them!”

“Now, listen,” Tikki began, further postponing the diatribe that she had prepared against the _filthy smut_ that Marinette still had displayed on her computer, “do you really think that Adrien is such a good liar that he could hide how he feels? You're jumping to conclusions; you don't even know for sure that he's gay, let alone that he likes Chat Noir.”

“It all makes sense, Tikki!”

None of Marinette's ramblings made any sense whatsoever to Tikki, but that was to be expected at this juncture.

“Oh, God! Adrien must feel so terrible that he has to hide who he really is!” The teenage girl flopped over to her bed, burying her face in her cat pillow and mumbling her next words into the plush fabric, “How could his father be so cruel?”

How could the _universe_ be this cruel? Tikki did nothing to deserve this. She slapped a nub to her forehead and tired to massage out the building headache.

“Oh no, Tikki. Do you know what this means?”  
  
Tikki did indeed, but she couldn't exactly be sure that Marinette did.

“Adrien is perfect, right?”

“Oh, Marinette. You know that no one-”

“And he's in love with Chat.”

“There's no-”

“And Adrien couldn't make a mistake because he's perfect.”

“There are so many things-”

“Which means that Chat Noir is right for him!”

“Why am I even-”

“And I turned him down.”

“-bothering with this?”

“Which means that I turned down the second best boy in Paris.” That was an air-tight logical syllogism. Right?

“Can I speak n-”

“And now Adrien is going to hate Ladybug because he knows that she turned Chat Noir down, so I hurt his boyfriend. And Chat still has feelings for Ladybug, so I'm Adrien's rival. And he'll never forgive me for trying to steal his man every time that Chat and I fight an Akuma, so we'll both be distracted and Hawkmoth will be able to take our Miraculouses – Miracul-ouli. Miraculi! Whatever!”

“Marinette,” Tikki sighed as she fluttered upwards, stopping next to her wielder's cheek and cooing softly. “You're catastrophizing.”

“The _world_ is catastrophizing, Tikki!” Marinette screamed, rolling over to her back and throwing her hands up into the air, an errant flail nearly smacking Tikki into the nearby wall.

The abuse she suffered.

“That's not how you use 'catastrophizing' in a sentence,” Tikki groused, folding her nubs.

“It doesn't matter, Tikki! Nothing matters! Adrien hates me, my children are dead, and Hawkmoth has already won!”

Considerate, patient reassurances over the next several hours – a miracle, really, in light of Tikki's fraying nerves – that Hawkmoth was not going to take over the world and that Adrien was probably bi, so there was still a chance, guided Marinette into a fitful sleep. After some extensive lecturing, she even managed to get her to delete that exploitative image from her “download” folder (little did she know about the cloud, email, cell phone, memory stick, or backup hard-drive).

Finally, at around midnight, Tikki herself collapsed onto her cushion with a soft * _pomf_ * and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Chat Noir's clawed fingertips trailed along the faint outline of Adrien's abdominals, the nascent ridge of muscle that suggested the barest hint of a six-pack. Stinging red welts blossomed in the wake of the superhero's wandering hands.

Gasping and squirming in leather-clad arms, Adrien tossed his head back, pulse hammering in his throat, when those curious fingers dragged lower, passed his navel.

"O-oh, God, Chat!" the model whimpered as Chat Noir, teasing grin wide across his face, drew his fangs over the smaller boy's throat, nibbling and nipping at the expanse of soft, pale flesh.

"That's it, pretty boy," he snarled, catching Adrien's chin between splayed, clawed fingers and drawing him into a kiss, his rough, nimble tongue playing over the model's lips and delving into his mouth for aching seconds as the smaller male pawed at Chat's chest. Chat Noir pulled away, tugging at the model's lower lip with a soft rake of his teeth.

"Beg me for it, pretty boy," he purred.

"Oh, please, Chat Noir,” Adrien whimpered, “make love to me! Satisfy me in a way that Marinette never could!"

_Wait, what?_

Marinette woke screaming- for several reasons.

“What?!” Tikki cried in response, leaping up from the tiny red pillow next to Marinette's bed.

“Adrien and Chat are going to have sex!” Marinette cried, her voice hoarse, and her chest heaving as she tried to slow her staccato heart-beat. “I'll never be able to give Adrien what he needs!”

She cocooned herself inside of her comforter while releasing a string of distinctly unladylike curses.

“Oh, why couldn't I have been born as a guy! Maybe then Adrien could love me,” she lamented lamely.

_Oh, for goodness sake!_

“Marinette!” Tikki screeched into her chosen's face, no doubt waking the Dupain-Changs with the resounding, ear-splitting pitch and volume, while cradling her head in her nubs and vibrating.

“Adrien can't love Chat Noir because he _is_ Chat Noir!”

Marinette's face fell slack, a panting, quivering Tikki hovering before her.

The Kwami was the first to recover her wits, as she was far less prone to losing them for extended periods.

Oh. _Oh no_.

Plagg was never going to let her live that down.

“A-Adrien is Chat Noir?” Marinette whispered, tugging a hand free from her blankets to clasp it to her mouth.

“Ah, well, maybe?” Tikki offered, deflating. “I mean, they're both blonde, so it could be?”  
  
“Adrien is Chat Noir and he loves Ladybug,” Marinette continued, words halting and measured as if she was trying to work out a complicated math problem in her head.

“Yes, well, _Chat_ loves Ladybug, but-” Tikki laughed unconvincingly. She could still salvage this. This could still be salvaged. Yes. Sure. “Who's to say anything about Adrien? I mean, he _could_.”

Marinette made a fumbling grab for the cell phone that rested on the floor next to her bed, laying back on her mattress and flicking through her saved pictures so that she could stare at the image that had consumed so much of her attention today. There, in all their glory, were _naked_ _Adrien_ and _Adrien wearing the vestiges of a leather cat suit_ – all sunshine golden locks, smooth, muscled bodies, pleasured gasps, and fiery, predatory smirks.

“Adrien is Chat Noir...”

“Uh, are you okay, Marinette?” Tikki inquired. A tentative nub reached out towards the girl whose face and ... unnatural, unnerving smile were cast in stark relief against the surrounding darkness by the pale light of her cell phone.

“Yes, Tikki,” Marinette murmured offhandedly. “I'm alright.”

Tikki swallowed thickly.

“Tell me, Tikki,” Marinette began in a serious tone, tongue poking out from her mouth to swipe across her upper lip as her eyes traced over the entwined forms of the two gorgeous blondes, “does 'Multitude' always create _smaller_ clones?”

With practice using the Mouse Miraculous, the answer was no. 

As it turned out, Adrien wasn't gay, so he couldn't accommodate his male fans, but, for his lady's sake, he worked hard and found a way to get bi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'll see myself out.
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed Marinette's descent into madness. Stay tuned as she drags the rest of the world with her into the abyss.


	2. You Do Look, My Son, In a Moved Sort, As If You Were Dismay'd.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette begins to share “the greatest work of art mankind had ever produced” with certain interested parties. 
> 
> She'll have Adrien making out with himself before the end of the month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating kicked up to 'Mature' because I want to be safe, even though I think that I could tone things back slightly here and there and get away with “Teen.”

As usual on days when he had no photoshoots and no late-night akuma battles that robbed him of what little sleep he could hope to obtain, Adrien Agreste was the first student to arrive at Madame Bustier's class, slipping into the comfortably familiar front row that he shared with Nino because where else would a student _want_ to sit than the front row?

Arranging his notebook and school supplies, including several highlighters for appropriate colour-coding of his notes, he grit his teeth at the ping of a notification on his cell phone, fully expecting a message from Nathalie regarding another photoshoot, a newly scheduled appointment, the inadequacies of his piano practice, or mispronunciations in the oral Mandarin test he had over the weekend.

He perked up immediately when he withdrew his phone from his school bag and saw the actual source of the message.

His good friend Marinette so rarely sent him anything and he grinned as he clicked on the text message notification.

 **Pastry Princess:** _Hey, Alya! You have to check out this sweet Chat Noir fan art! I really enjoyed it for about two minutes while I was in bed last night. That was all it took._

Adrien's heart fell as he realized the mistake. Obviously, the slightly clumsy girl had selected the wrong contact on her cell phone. Her fumbling was really rather adorable at times, but he couldn't help but find it at least slightly disappointing that she hadn't intended to reach out to him and share this “sweet fan art” as she called it. 

Didn't she know that he was a _huge_ fan of Paris' super-heroes?

He wasn't exactly sure what she meant by “that was all it took,” but Marinette did have some difficulty expressing herself clearly every now and then. It was so very kind of her to type out her message with proper capitalization and no slang, though.

She was so thoughtful.

While he hesitated for a moment before opening the attached image in light of the fact that it would simply be _impolite_ to view something that wasn't meant for him, curiosity got the better of him. After all, who better to appreciate Chat Noir fanart than Chat Noir himself? He tapped at the attachment, a rather hefty eight megabytes, and the processing wheel spooled up. It gave him just enough time to speculate.

Maybe it was a drawing of Chat Noir helicoptering across rooftops with his baton, or tag-teaming an inventive fan-made akuma alongside his Lady. Pretty much every fan artist out there could give Hawkmoth lessons on basic design and colour coordination. Adrien was convinced that a world-renowned design mogul like his father had regular fits over the fashion disasters that were Hawkmoth's Akumas.

He had seen so many fan designs over the years.

Not that he had a massive collection of fanart of himself that included an ultra-secret folder of illustrations depicting Chat Noir and Ladybug lounging about on picnic dates, feeding each other pastries or small pieces of fruit, or enjoying quiet, romantic candlelight dinners together.

Nor had he spent a few thousand Euro on artists' commissions to create said illustrations.

No. At last tally, it had been more than 10,000 Euro, which meant that he could still technically make mental use of the positively ancient “It's over 9000!” meme whenever he thought about his collection.

He... had a lot of money.

And it was the principle of the thing.

He was a patron of the arts.

It was all quite philanthropic, really.

The file loaded up, his phone switching over to his gallery to display the image in all its glory, as Adrien veritably vibrated with all the excited possibilities cavorting through his mind at breakneck speed.

Welp. They had been warned by the adjective, but, no, they just _had_ to keep racing along.

Now there was a pile of possibilities, all with broken necks, just sitting in his brain after hitting the obscene, ripped, leather-clad (though only in the _scantiest_ of ways) brick wall of reality...

And Adrien came pretty close to snapping his neck along with them, his head jerking back with a crack of tortured vertebrae. The first semi-lucid thought that crossed his mind, firmly secured in a neck-brace, was that he would really have to trundle off to the nurse's office to see if he had either whiplash or a concussion.

Or both.

It wasn't _just_ an image of Chat Noir. Indeed, his alter-ego was accompanied by a certain famed Parisian model...

Who had his hand...

With Chat Noir's bell below his...

And Adrien's mouth...

And Chat's perky...

Marinette had been looking at _this_?

"Shit," he hissed and sputtered.

"Dude, language!" came a voice from in front of him.

Fumbling to stuff his cell phone into his bag to conceal the _offending_ image, he glanced towards the source of the reprimand: Nino, who was rounding the corner of the table to take a seat next to his best friend.

"What?!” Terror-sweat began to accumulate along his brow, his palms growing even more clammy, as he stared wide-eyed at his friend. “I wasn't- I – What?"

"Language, bro,” Nino ribbed him gently while fiddling with his ball cap. “I don't think that I've ever heard you swear before. What's up?"

Chat and Adrien's-

No! That was a bad thought! A very naughty thought!

Also bad because what was “up” was kind of small compared to reality. Not that he had _measured_ or anything because who _does_ that, right?

But his wounded pride was the most distant of his mental voices.

_Oh, God. Two minutes..._

_That was all that it took._

_She had been..._

No! That was a _really_ bad thought because it was a really good image and a really good _male_ friend shouldn't be thinking about a really good _female_ friend doing something to herself that made her feel really good.

It just wasn't very good.

Okay, now his wounded "pride" was speaking a little bit louder.

Adrien shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Nino settled in beside him, likely having arrived early, as he often did, in order to spend time with Adrien in light of their limited opportunities to meet.

“You okay, dude?” Nino inquired, leaning in to pat Adrien on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” Adrien squeaked before clearing his throat several times to try to regain a semblance of his normal voice. He failed. “I'm really good.”

“You sure about that, bro?” His face tightened up with a frustrated frown. “Did you get another message from Nathalie? Was that what you were trying to hide when I came in?”

“No!” Adrien squawked. “My Dad's been treating me really well lately.”

“Okay, now I know you're lying because - sorry bro - that's never true.”

Without allowing Adrien the time to marshal another deflection in an attempt to placate his friend, Nino jammed a hand into the model's school bag and withdrew the cell phone that Adrien had so awkwardly attempted to conceal.

Of course said phone was locked with his pin number, so it wasn't as if-

-aaaand it was unlocked.

"Nino!” Adrien cried, causing the other young man to look up at him “You can't just take my phone without asking! How did you even know the code?"

"Come on, bro. Everyone knows your pin: day and month that Chat and Ladybug first appeared."

The moment that he looked down again, his derisive yet playful snort morphed into strangled gurgle as if he was being hanged, his jaw literally dropping as he just _stared_ at the cell phone screen with an expression that made Adrien want to crawl into his bedroom and return to being home-schooled.

That might have been the only thing in the world that could have made Gabriel Agreste _like_ Nino.

Adrien didn't know that you could blanch and blush at the same time, but there it was on Nino's face as the other boy snapped his jaw closed and licked his lips.

"Dude," Nino drew out slowly, eyes never leaving the image and the nude bodies displayed on Adrien's phone. "Were you looking at... porn of yourself? In class?"

He could tell the truth and throw Marinette under the bus, but of course he couldn't _actually_ do that. Like a proper knight, he had to defend his princess' honour, even from the consequences of her own lascivious behaviours involving such _smut_.

_Note to self: change Marinette's handle to “Perverted Pastry Princess.”_

"Well, uh..."

"'Cause, man, not the right place or time. I mean, I don't judge. You know Chat Noir is on my “free pass” list. If he wanted to join in with me and Alya, I wouldn't say no. And-" He looked about him conspiratorially, assessing each crevice in the room as if it might conceal a spy or listening device. Silence dominated the class, not even the faint footfalls of approaching students imposing on the eerie, portentous quiet.

Seemingly satisfied that no one could overhear, Nino continued: "And, I've got a 'Chat Noir' folder of my own."

_Oh._

_God._

_No!_

He loved Nino like a brother, which was what made the thought of him settling down at his computer, navigating to that folder, and unzipping his fly in order to-

 _Fuck_ , he swore mentally because he would think words that he would never say. That _was_ a bad thought – a stomach turning thought – because of the whole “loved like a brother” thing. Where was that mental image of Marinette "enjoying h-”

Oh, there it was.

That didn't take very much at all...

_Hello. So nice of you to show up when I really need you._

Just how many people in this world were "enjoying" the thought of him as either Adrien Agreste, teen supermodel, or as Chat Noir, mysterious, debonair, and suave saviour of Paris?

Or of him as both?

_Don't look at the picture. Don't look at the picture. Don't look at the picture._

He looked at the picture and started to tear up.

"Hey, man. It's alright. It's okay," Nino soothed, slightly frantic in his efforts to placate Adrien, whose expression of shame, horror, and, maybe, with that mental image of Marinette, ever-so-slight arousal, was obvious. "Just- time and place, you know? But if you're into the guy, welcome to the club."

"Nino,” Adrien began shakily, "you taught me everything I know about the bro code. I am invoking the bro code."

“Hey.” Nino threw up his hands as he backed off. “Say no more, man. If you're sure, we never speak of it again.”

“Please.” Plucking the cell phone from Nino's hand with a thumb and forefinger, Adrien offered his friend a grateful nod in response and then hid his cell phone at the bottom of his school bag.

“Last I'll say on it, dude.” Nino held up two hands, surrendering to his friend's express wishes and the dictates of the 'code of bros'. “But if you need to talk to me about anything, you just call. No judgment.”

“Sure thing, Nino.”

Nino drew him into a quick side hug that normally would have settled Adrien's mood, though today he only stiffened awkwardly. The slow circles that Nino's hand was running over Adrien's arm and the sensation of a caring friend holding him might have been comforting if he hadn't just learned that Nino regularly ... did things to himself while looking at smutty depictions of Adrien wearing a leather cat-suit.

That kind of thing could throw a real kink into a friendship.

_Oh God not that kind of kink!_

Damn his punning brain. It had turned against him.

“What are you two doing?” Alya's voice called out from the doorway, causing the two boys to snap away from each other because there were strict limitations on the acceptable duration of a bro-hug and it wouldn't do for a girl to see them going beyond the permissible time.

Nino's girlfriend offered them a suspicious look as she rounded the desk and stood before her boyfriend. “You look thick as thieves.”

“Nothing!” Adrien yelped, which was truly a spectacularly ineffective means of deflecting Alya's interest.

Leaning into her sweating boyfriend's personal space and smirking as his eyes dipped towards the hint of her bosom that was exposed by the loosely-buttoned shirt that she typically wore, Alya drew a finger across his cheek.

“Nino,” she purred. “What were you doing?”

“J-just looking at some music videos, babe,” Nino said, unable to meet her intense gaze and squirming at the syrupy tone.

Good old reliable Nino, keeping “Adrien's” secret, holding fast to the sacred code of bros, just as he had taught it, though he had unwittingly broken rule 5: “A bro shall not gaze at a naked bro.”

“Nino!” Alya ground out, pulling away from him and folding her arms in a radical mood shift that would have given Adrien whiplash had he not already been suffering from it, her rigid posture reminding him more of a baleful parent than a girlfriend.

“Adrien was looking at porn!” Nino cried out so loudly that Adrien leapt back in his seat, nearly tumbling to the floor as he glared at his _former_ best friend.

_You backstabbing unfaithful liar._

Top five anime betrayals.

"Nino!" Adrien lamented in an accusatory whine, gazing on his former best friend with unabashed contempt and shock. "The bro code!"

"Bro code's a lie, bro," Nino responded slowly, crestfallen, as if he was finally telling an eighteen year old "child" that Santa Claus wasn't real. "I just wanted to spare you as long as I could. A girlfriend owns you."

"Damn straight, Lahiffe," Alya crowed before jabbing a finger in his direction. "And nice try. Good on you for roping Adrien into your little act, but I want the truth."

"It _is_ the truth, babe," Nino protested weakly.

"Right," she drawled in response before pointing towards Adrien's ... special place, mercifully concealed by his desk. _Oh, God._

“Sunshine child is so sweet and sheltered that he probably hasn't even looked at his _own_ "no touch" spot.”

Okay, just because it was a _little_ bit embarrassing to enjoy his “private time” in anything but pitch darkness did _not_ mean that he was some innocent ingénue who blushed at the sight of his own body while dreaming about his Lady laying him out on a bed covered in rose petals, warm light from the innumerable candles surrounding them casting flickering shadows across his nubile, nude form finally laid bare to her loving eyes, before she slowly and gently deflowered him while a recording of Adrien performing Franz Liszt's _Liebestraum_ or a piano rendition of “All I Ask of You” (he hadn't decided yet) played in the background.

...

At any rate, it _had_ to be in the dark because ... Plagg was in the room. That was it. Really good reason there. Totally believable.

_Who am I trying to convince?_

_Am I talking to myself?_

_Yes, you are._

“Babe,” Nino whined plaintively, interrupting Adiren's stress-induced spiral into madness, as Alya took him by the hand and led him to the corner of the room.

“Uh-uh, Lahiffe” she shushed him. “You don't want your bestie to see what I'm going to do to you, do you?”

There was absolutely nothing that either Nino or Adrien could do to forestall Alya's wrathful interrogation, her journalistic flair having consumed her to the point that she was digging out the entire story, pausing only to scoff at its ridiculous impossibility. Every detail that should have confirmed its veracity only made her more suspicious, it seemed, because what horrifying secret could have spurred Nino to concoct so complex a narrative to conceal it?.

There was a minute or so of grilling, Adrien casting winces and apologetic glances in his friend's direction every-so-often. While it was true that Nino deserved worse for lying about the “bro-code” and breaking it wilfully, Adrien was a very forgiving sort. At least the guilt allowed him to settle himself and banish the image of-

_Oh, you're back again. Could you leave me alone for a while?_

The mental image did not accede to his wishes

Acting as if nothing whatsoever had happened, and as innocent and light-spirited as ever, though without even a hint of her standard stuttering, Marinette trundled into class at this point.

She was behind him all the rest of the day, _watching_ _him._ Knowing what she had done just last evening while staring at that image, he couldn't help flying at half-mast perpetually, forcing him to rearrange his pants constantly, He could feel her eyes on him, even when she should have been absorbed in class work or was giggling with Alya during breaks.

Were they looking at the “sweet fan art” together?

Her presence behind him was almost a palpable force, the heat from her body, her bakery scent, her subtle, steady intakes of breath – all of it – pressing down on him the entire day.

Over the next several hours, much of his time had to be devoted to straining to keep his gaze forward, staring at his teacher with such unnatural intensity that even the normally callous Ms. Mendeleiev took note and gently encouraged him to head home for the day.

But then, finally and mercifully, it was over.

“Have a nice evening, Adrien,” Marinette called from the top of the steps that led to the school's front entrance, beaming at him as he stumbled his way to his waiting car. “I'll see you tomorrow,” her voice pitched lower, though her cheery expression never shifted, even for a moment.

Adrien couldn't understand how so standard a salutation could come across as a command and sultry promise, tinged with a hint of a threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much obliged for the kudos, comments, bookmarks and such. I always appreciate hearing from readers, regardless of their feelings on the work.


	3. Cowards (and Kitties) Die Many Times Before Their Deaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the discovery of a certain piece of fan art made the previous day torturous, Adrien finds the next day of class to be even... harder.

As was made evident by the patriarch of the Agreste family, healthy expressions of emotion were oftentimes a challenge for Agreste men. As any attempt on Adrien's part to explore emotional needs or articulate them to his father was met with the harshest censure, he had long ago learnt to suppress his feelings, resulting in them bursting forth in bouts of sheer unbridled petulance, or, even more often, _festering_ as he ignored his problems because there was nothing that could be done to address them.

So, taking the solid life lessons that he had learnt from his father, Adrien returned home and promptly attempted to suppress all recollection of the day's events. 

He failed. 

Instead, disregarding Plagg's insistent demands for cheese, which halted when Adrien began to stumble while trying to shuck his pants, the Kwami's eyes widening as he fled to a distant corner, gagging at the thought of what was to... come, Adrien hurried to the bathroom that adjoined his room.

He had a very insistent and very large problem to address. 

And address it he did. 

Unfortunately, that same problem arose again before he even had a chance to finish cleaning up after dealing with it the first time. 

During the second effort, though he could see that vivid image of Marinette “enjoying herself” in her room clearly in his mind regardless, he left the lights on and relished the experience all the more for it.

The thought just wouldn't leave him alone, though.

Not through the evening, night, or next morning as he was deposited in front of his school and trudged to his classroom, which slowly filled with the regular contingent of students, Nathaniel settling in with his sketchpad near the back, Alya and Nino entering together in the midst of a discussion over “Adrien watching porn,” and Max fiddling with Markov (For whatever reason, Chloe had used her father's profound influence to keep the class together even now, years later. It was actually somewhat disturbing.).

The mental image only became all the more insistent, morphing slightly to accommodate new data regarding Marinette's appearance, as the girl in question and in thought made her way into the classroom, early for once. 

That was just his luck. Now he had the chance to actually stare without the minimal distraction of class. 

She sported a low-cut forest green blouse that exposed several inches of pale cleavage, the soft-looking flesh transitioning smoothly into the slightly more tanned skin of her throat and jaw.

How much lighter could her skin get if he was allowed to tug the edge of that blouse just a little bit lower?

Was that a good thought or a bad thought?

Yes.

The pleated black skirt that she wore, contrasted against the green of her shirt, seemed to hug her hips, emphasizing her lithe figure and the subtler curves of her svelte form that only a connoisseur could appreciate properly. Thin, dark stockings that were equal parts reserved and alluring, skirting the line of the school's dress code, highlighted the impressive tone of her legs and seemed to stretch them out to infinity before tucking neatly into simple black flats.

But the accessories had Adrien shuddering. 

A small golden bell hung from the centre of the thin leather belt that made her waist appear thinner, dangling on the end of a silver chain that placed the metallic orb within the folds of her skirt at just the right level to draw attention to...

He licked his lips. 

... to that place that he shouldn't be thinking about. 

Mirroring the lower accessory was a second bell that hung from the black choker that encircled her neck, tied off with a green blow, a small chain allowing it to bounce and jingle against her collar bone.

How he wanted to ding her bell. 

The fact that he didn't even know what that meant did not diminish the desire in any way. 

“Hey, everyone,” Marinette greeted, waving to Alya and Nino and seeming to ignore him entirely. 

Pausing in an interrogation of her boyfriend that was merely her second “crack” at the boy who stared at the classroom wall, dead-eyed and traumatized, Alya pushed him to the side and whipped out her cell phone, fumbling with it in an uncharacteristic show of clumsiness. 

“Girl," she breathed. "Th- That's a sweet outfit!" she enthused in a tone that was slightly too cheerful. "I didn't even know that you were putting something like that together. Love the bells. Chat Noir, right?” A circular gesture of her free hand prodded Marinette to pose for one or two shots.

Marinette flashed the radiant green nail polish that dotted her finger tips, and that he hadn't even seen because, well, everything else.

“Well, I had a flash of inspiration last night, and most of the pieces were laying around, though I did have to work on the collar. That picture of Chat that I sent you yesterday morning really got the creative juices flowing.”

_Creative juices flowing._

_Juices._

_Flowing._

Adrien whimpered. 

“What picture was that?” Alya asked, poking at her cell phone and switching apps in order to review her messages only to frown when she found nothing other than alerts from the Ladyblog.

“Didn't you see the Chat Noir fan art that I sent you?”

“Nah, girl. Did you shoot it to my email address?”

“No. I texted you.” She pulled her own phone from her bag and tapped for a moment before frowning slightly. “Sorry, Alya. I accidentally sent it over to Adrien.”

She wheeled on him and all he could see was her face contorted by desire, hair hanging loose around her shoulders in a way that perfectly framed her face as her hand - 

“What did you think of it, Adrien?” Marinette asked innocently, her smile pure and plain as she offered him a playful cock of her hip and put a hand to it as if mirroring the pose of some model that she had seen in her fashion magazines. “Did the artist do a good job?”

Watching the girl, Nino appeared to be wordlessly expressing the precise sentiments with which Adrien himself was grappling. 

Other than, maybe, the arousal because that would be unfaithful to Alya and Adrien might have to deck him for feeling that way about ... about someone who was just a friend even though she had been... 

No. Friends _could_ think that way about each other, clearly. That was normal friend behavior. It was entirely fine for good friends to be thinking of each other like that.

If not, well, he'd be a really _terrible_ friend about five minutes after he got home this afternoon and locked himself into his room. Also, he would already be an awful one after rubbing himself raw yesterday.

It still stung. 

Was that why they referred to it as “self-abuse?”

He needed to convince his bodyguard to get to the chemist today, whatever excuse was necessary, because it behooved him to blow a small fortune on Astroglide. 

“Didn't you love the details on Chat Noir's staff?” Marinette enthused with an almost child-like glee. 

_Staff?_

At that utterly innocuous question, he very nearly deflated in relief, all the tension seeping out of his body, discounting the area around his pelvis (that would take a few minutes). Clearly Marinette had sent “Alya” the wrong image, probably one that she hadn't even looked at because his princess was far too innocent to ever view such _smut_. 

The strain began building on itself again as a squeezed his eyes shut. He was horrible. How could he have thought so ill of her? Or had those other thoughts? How could he have besmirched her honour by picturing her with one hand between her legs, the other one beckoning him forward with a quirk of her finger, while he was “de-stressing” in the shower this morning? 

While he had been under the assumption that _she_ was the pervert, it was now obvious that he was a despicable degenerate for jumping to such wholly-unfounded conclusions, but as he took in her outfit, he lamented his own lasciviousness and weak-will: he wouldn't be able to stop now that he'd had a mental taste. 

But the matter was clear: it had all just been _his_ misunderstanding. 

After all, the Chat Noir in _that_ image wasn't even carrying his... 

...staff.

Oh.

In the time that it took him to realize that and process it properly, Marinette had moved to the base of the stairway that led to the rows of seats behind him, but, instead of climbing the first step, she stopped by Adrien's side, braced her palms against his desk, and hitched her rear upwards so that she sat half beside and half in-front of him, the edge of her skirt rolling up to expose another inch of thigh. 

_Do not look down._  
  
“I never knew that it was so intricate,” Marinette continued flippantly as she leaned down to the point that her bosom was right within tasting distance of Adrien's mouth, “even though I held it in my hands when he saved me from Evillustrator.”

“Did you?” he mumbled, averting his eyes because that was what a gentleman would do and focusing on her jawline as it curved up to her ear, which was pretty much the only safe thing that he could look at – the fine, soft lines of her helix and anti-helix balancing each other in just the proper proportions, lobe dotted cutely with a black stud earring and the alluring little tragus poking inwards towards-

Had Marinette just given him an ear-fetish?

He pulled back to take in the rest of her features. 

No. No. Thankfully, this was a “Marinette fetish” of some kind, like the whole package and every individual small part, which was kind of a comfort in compare. 

“Yeah. I'll really have to take a _long_ , _hard_ look at it up close when I get the chance to see it again.”

His mouth twisted with several seemingly random quirks, releasing only a strangled sound as if he had just been kicked below the belt-line. 

It almost felt like he had. 

Why had he worn his “tight” jeans today?

 _Because you wanted to show off your butt, doofus._

Why did his mental voice sound like Plagg? Was that a side-effect of the miraculous?

“I know that he can extend it,” Marinette continued, “but I wonder if it gets any thicker.” 

Adrien was simply full of questions today as yet another one was added to his mental list: Why did she have to curl her lip and drop into that sultry tone while rolling out the _th_ on “thicker?”

It just wasn't fair or friendly. 

“Well, it's magic, right?” he muttered, gritting his teeth. “So it could probably do lots of stuff.”

Yes. Well put.

“Oh, I bet that it could do lots of _stuff_ , alright,” Marinette leered at him, eyeing _his_ “stuff” unashamedly as he squirmed . 

“But he didn't seem to know how to use it very well.” She flicked a finger over her plump lower lip, highlighted by the soft rouge of her lipstick that he was now close enough to appreciate properly. “When we were caught, I had to tell him, 'extend it all the way' and you can get us out of this tight spot.' Silly cat just had to make it _bigger_.” 

The pleated folds of her skirt billowed up as she shifted, crossing her legs and smoothing out the wrinkles, one thigh sliding over the other, the sound of thin fabric scraping over thin fabric audible and unmistakable due to his enhanced hearing. 

He just had to keep his eyes on her face. That was all that he had to do. Her beautiful, teasing, grinning face that was speckled with adorable freckles but suddenly seemed alien because of that hungry glint to her eyes. 

_I'd let her eat me any day._

“What?” he asked himself aloud, though Marinette appeared, for whatever reason, to take that as encouragement to continue. 

“At least he knew how to listen. He was such a _good kitty_ ,” she enthused and he really wanted to hear her call him that again because _holy shit_. 

“I told him exactly what I needed him to do, and he was so eager to impress me that he just did whatever I wanted.” 

His attention so heavily focused on that wholly unusual and sinfully seductive smirk the like of which had never appeared in his fantasies of wholesome picnics with Ladybug, and largely due to his efforts to keep his eyes off of, frankly, her _boobs_ , he almost moaned in breathless shock when her stocking-clad foot made contact with his leg. She brushed under the edge of his jeans so that he could feel the soft material of her leggings and the individual motions of each toe against his lower shin. Then, she began to trail upwards inquisitively with no indication as to where she would stop. 

“Excuse me!” he cried as he leapt to his feet in a blind panic before racing to the door. “I need to use the washroom.”

No. He did not care to think about what Marinette was looking at, only inches away from her face, when he stood up in front of her.

He _didn't_ notice how Marinette, Alya, and Nino alike all stared at him as he rose out of his seat, their eyes widening appreciatively or, he hoped to God, jealously on Nino's part.

He also did _not_ hear Alya mutter in the distance as he shuffled off to a nice, solitary bathroom stall: “Okay, Lahiffe. I believe you.”

And he certainly, unequivocally, indubitably, did not stumble in the hallway when, after a beat of silence, the sensitive near-feline hearing that bled over to his civilian form allowed him to pick up Alya's appreciative hum as she told Marinette: “Girl, you lucked out there.” 

He was very late getting back to class. 

* * *

  
Splaying his hands across Chat's thick pectoral muscles, reveling in the softness of the cat's hairless skin as he allowed his thumbs to circle over his counterpart's pale pink areola, Adrien grinned at the leather-clad youth's gasp of breath. That feral gleam in the cat's eyes promised retribution as a belt-tail curled around Adrien's lower leg when the boy settled his hips lower, pinning the superhero to Adrien's mattress with his weight.

“You know I could flip you over whenever I want, right, pretty boy? Super strength?” Chat Noir breathed roughly, raking his claws across the small of Adrien's back before cupping the tight globes of his rear. “You want that, don't you?” 

Hot squirming desire rolled inside Adrien's belly, urging him onward to heights and depths of depravity that he had never allowed himself to consider before encountering this tempting embodiment of sin, wrapped up in black leather. Or at least partially so, as Chat was currently sporting only tight leather pants that left nothing to the imagination, particularly now that Adrien was straddling his thin hips, gyrating against them slowly. The green lenses of Chat's mask and pure _want_ tinted his eyes into something veritably inhuman. 

“Oh, I know, Chat, but cats are so _lazy_.” Adrien grinned down at the hero, stretched out languidly below him. “So you're just going lay back, relax, and let me do all the work training you so you know how to be a _good kitty_ for me.”

And thus it was that Adrien realized that he was a comfortable switch, happy to serve as dominant top, power bottom, or both at the same time as was demanded by the situation. Not that he had the actual terms down, but he got the gist of it, and speaking of the “situation...” 

“Hm. Tempting,” Chat said while running a paw down Adrien's side, coming to rest on his hip-bone, a thumb trailing down its length, and pressing him down more firmly, slowing the motion of his hips. “What do you think, Marinette? Do you want to see how well pretty boy can _work_?”

And there, seated in the sofa across from his bed, was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, just watching them like a predator ready to spring on them both, her legs spla-

Adrien bolted out of bed with a choked gasp, tumbling to his bedroom floor in a tangle of sheets. 

“Gah!” came a scream from Adrien's pillow as Plagg shot into the air, casting his gaze about the room with a feral sneer before it fell on Adrien, sprawled out on the floor.

“What the hell is wrong with you, kid?” he groused, though Adrien was certain that he could detect a hint of concern behind the still-hot ire. 

What was “wrong” was that he was in a very uncomfortable “sticky situation,” the damp cross of his sleep pants clinging to ... every inch of that area. This problem clearly needed to be... _handled_ as swiftly as possible. He made a note to pre-wash his flannel nightwear by hand in his bathroom sink before turning it over to the cleaning staff. 

“Sorry, Plagg,” Adrien mumbled as he tried to untangle himself from his sheets while preventing the unpleasant, concealed, cooling, and nastily congealing mess from spreading. “I had a bad dream.”

Plagg reviewed his chosen's state as the boy rose, his legs held apart awkwardly, and collected his comforter before tossing it in a heap onto his bed.

“Looks like a "bad" dream alright,” he said with a smirk, flitting down to settle himself onto Adrien's pillow once again. 

“Plagg,” Adrien groaned as he paused by his bedside. His cell phone sat there, attached to its charging cable, the top-of-the-line model with expanded memory containing gigabytes of images depicting his Lady, commissions of his imagined, innocent picnic dates, and hundreds of photographs with his caring _real_ friends - innumerable treasured memories and dreams of love and acceptance.  
  
Buried in its micro SD card was also that one illustration that Marinette had "accidentally" sent his way which he had forgotten to delete. He turned and waddled his way towards the bathroom, stepping gingerly, then paused with a grimace, casting a glance over his shoulder for a long moment. 

“Are you going to go do something disgusting now?” the kwami inquired lazily, only one of his green eyes open to fixate on Adrien, who was illuminated by the harsh light from beyond the bathroom door as he slipped inside. 

“Yeah,” the young man called back sheepishly, squeezing his cell phone to the point that it it released a tortured groan of plastic, without turning around because then Plagg could probably see the stain and the blush that almost burned his fingers when he covered his eyes in shame “Pretty much.”

“Didn't you get enough of that this afternoon?” Plagg chuckled. “I left you alone for, like, two hours.” 

A pitiful whimper was his only response. 

“Well, I'm glad that you're doing it in the bathroom this time,” Plagg replied as he settled in for what would hopefully be a pleasant sleep while the noise of the shower spray filled the room. “Stay in there.”

Between thoughts of Marinette and... “Chat Noir,” Adrien did just that for the next hour. 


	4. Some Cupid Kills With Arrows, Some With Traps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien realizes that there is only one possible explanation for Marinette's strange behaviour, and begins to play Dark Knight Detective to figure things out and rescue his princess. He's on the verge of dying as a hero, but he may just live long enough to see himself become the villain. 
> 
> Unfortunately, a trap has already been set for him

The next morning, Adrien completed what most young teens would have considered a rite of passage into adulthood. As with most things in his life, this landmark experience was several years behind schedule, but the devious, taboo thrill of it was all the sweeter for the delay. Now, Adrien was old enough to truly appreciate how _vile_ \- how _despicable_ \- he was being, and even the sense of shame for enjoying it so much was pleasurable in its own odd way.

Adrien faked being sick. _To get out of going to school!_

This monstrous perversion was his first step on the path to the Dark Side, certainly, but for Marinette's sake, and for the sake of his much abused "pride," he had no other choice.

Wasn't that just like Anakin, turning to the Dark Side because of his own princess, whom he also lo-

_Nope. Not going there right now. One mental breakdown at a time, thank you._

Given that Adrien was the kind of young man who would insist that he was well enough to go to school with two broken legs and a respirator breathing _for_ him, the real challenge was convincing Nathalie not to to call up an ambulance when he said that he was simply too ill to make it to class that day. After pleading desperately with her to simply let him stay in bed because “he was sure he had food poisoning,” he finally won her over with a mad scramble to the bathroom and some forced retching that probably sounded totally fake until he accidentally sucked some spittle down his windpipe and began choking. She cleared his schedule for the day.

Then, Chat Noir was out of his bedroom window, pole-vaulting across the city with one destination in mind.  
  
Lila Rossi's apartment.

In retrospect, it was all so obvious. The situation should have been evident to him from the first moment that he had viewed the uncharacteristic and unwholesome message that Marinette had sent to him, but he had been so typically _male_ , letting his "little head" take over rather than actually trying to care for his princess and be the hero that she needed. The bizarre mood-swings, the change in clothing and style, the lack of stuttering, the lewd leers, the fixation on that damnably alluring image, and her apparent unwitting desire to have him go fuck himself – all of it pointed to only one thing.

Marinette was under the influence of an Akuma.

Clearly.

Hawkmoth hadn't sent out an akuma in the past several days, or so Chat had believed. That seemed to fit the timeline necessary to account for Marinette's odd behaviour. Such subtlety was not Hawkmoth's typical style, but some grand, devious plan involving a ... clandestine lechery akuma of some sort seemed the only explanation. And after four years and nine akumatizations, including at least five that were intentional, and all of which were focused on deception, illusion, or mind control typically employed in a plot to discredit or otherwise injure Marinette, Lila Rossi was the prime suspect.

Chat Noir alighted on a building opposite to the Rossi apartment, creeping towards the edge of the roof to peer down into Lila's window. Frustrating his earlier theory, the girl in question was prancing about her room, cooing to herself about something or other.

Probably her crush on Satan, father of lies.

Or his crush on her.

Given that she was a known associate of Hawkmoth – who, for some reason, the police still refused to arrest or at least deport – she was not above continued suspicion. She might not have been the akuma, but that didn't mean that she wasn't involved.

A few minutes of observation yielded nothing of any interest whatsoever, though Lila appeared to be in the last stages of arranging herself to leave. Checking over her clothing one final time, she withdrew a small rectangular slip of paper from her desk, trailed her nail over it in a fashion that was equally loving and psychotic, and tucked it into her pocket. When she stepped out of her room and soon emerged from her front door to hail a cab, Chat contemplated trailing her, but instead slunk down to her window once the coast was clear. Best to investigate her room while she was gone.

Scuttling along the wall of the building, using the gaps between lines of bricks as handholds, he perched above her window and brandished his claws, pressing them into the glass and thrilling slightly as they dug in, allowing him to carve out a small circle of glass through which he could stick his hand in order to unlock the window and gain entry.

Normally he wouldn't have even _contemplated_ damaging civilian property unless there was a Miraculous Cure waiting in the wings or he was feeling petulant on a Christmas eve, but Chat Noir had already succumb to the seductive allure of the Dark Side. Forever would it dominate his destiny and there was no use fighting against it.

Lies. Truancy. Now vandalism. Murder was only a step away for a heart as black as his.

Anyways, it was Lila Rossi's window.

And fuck Lila Rossi.

Not literally, of course, because the very notion was the definition of "think unsexy thoughts.” Barf. At least now he had something in his back pocket if he needed to control himself when around the obviously akuma-influenced Marinette.

A quick search through the room revealed nothing untoward at first. He _may_ have been a little bit overzealous in _tearing_ through Lila's wardrobe and “testing” her mattress with his claws to see if she had hidden anything therein (thank goodness it wasn't a feather bed). Then he reached her closet. The only odd thing had been a strange funk, but he was used to that sort of thing after dealing with Plagg's Camembert on a daily basis. Initially, everything had appeared to be utterly ordinary, at least until he'd kicked the wall in frustration.

The thud of his green-toe-bean-tipped-boot-strike echoed in the _empty_ space beyond.

A slightly rougher kick burst the false panel, which he then pried away effortlessly.

Chat snarled at the sight beyond.

A small altar sat in the darkened recess, easily visible due to his low-light vision. Centered on the low platform was a cauldron of some sort, filled with a clear, viscus liquid. Surrounding it lay several half-melted red candles. From the foul odour, which was now much stronger to the point that it tortured his sensitive nose, it seemed that they were made from the rendered fat of some kind of animal, though Chat could not identify it. And there, on top of a slightly-raised dais, sat an adorable hand-made doll with pink pants, a white shirt, button eyes, and cute little pigtails.

Roughly a dozen pins dotted its head and chest.

_Oh, Mari._

Gently cradling the doll in one hand to scoop it up, Chat brought it close to his chest and slowly gripped one pin at a time, tugging them out of the poor little doll with easy motions.

After tossing the pins to the floor and silently hoping that Lila would step on them and bury them so deep that they couldn't be removed, leading to an infection that would require her to have both her feet amputated, Adrien ran a gloved finger over the doll's chest, as if trying to soothe a wounded baby. The edge of ... something poked out from under the doll's shirt. It was ... a piece of paper? He pulled at its edge, only to find it stuck. After blushing while lifting up the little androgynous doll's shirt, he found a small photograph of Lila Rossi pinned to the naked, flat, featureless chest, right above the spot where her heart would be.

Shudder.

The doll would be much happier on Adrien's sacred Ladybug merch shelf.

Actually, with the right little outfit, the doll could easily pass as his Lady. Once Marinette was well again, he'd commission her to make one. Fitting that his “everyday Ladybug” should have a place of honour among his other collectibles.

Fortunately for Adrien's already tenuous grip on sanity, he abandoned his search at that point and did not discover the loose panel under Lila's bed that could be tugged free to reveal hundreds of photos of Marinette in various states of undress, some taken by telephoto lens and others by a pin-hole camera set up in the girls' locker room.

A carefully-concealed cell phone and some deft hands had been used to grab the up-skirt shots.

After Lila's mother called the police regarding the break-in, they _did_ find it, though, which led them to the camera in the girls' locker room.

At that point, Gabriel Agreste decided that Lila Rossi was more trouble than she was worth and stopped blocking her deportation and her mother sent her to the psychiatrists that she had needed so desperately since she was 13.

That was not, however, for Chat to worry about as he took to the Parisian skyline, pausing only momentarily to drop his transformation, tuck his mini-Marinette safely in the pocket of his civilian pants, and get his “claws out” again.

Given that Lila was a bust, he had only one lead now: Marinette Dupain-Cheng herself.

It took him only a few minutes to arrive at the Tom and Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, at which point he peered down into window to check to make certain that no one was inside Marinette's upper room. Once assured that it was empty, he settled on the bakery's roof to drop his transformation again and allow Plagg to phase through the trapdoor to her room in order to unlock it.

Reappearing through the hatch a moment later, Plagg sent Adrien the stink-eye.

"You're not going to do anything" he paused and grimaced, " _disgusting_ in there, are you?"

"Plagg!" Adrien chastised. "How could you even say that? Marinette needs our help."

"Yeah, she needs help alright," Plagg muttered.

That's right. His princess was in desperate need, and he was here to help her.

Hard.

Plagg quirked a brow in his direction when Adrien felt it necessary to slap himself.

What was _happening_ to him?

"Kid-"

"Plagg!" Adrien screamed, forgoing his typical transformation stance in favour of rubbing his cheek. "Claws out!"

He was already making his way through the hatch as the sighing kwami was dragged into his ring.

"Creeping" into two girls' bedrooms in the same day? Clearly of the Dark Side.

At first glance, nothing seemed unusual. Pastels and pinks dominated the space, though there was an explosion of colours in Marinette's expanded work area with all the varieties of fabrics stored there and a few half-finished projects. The computer appeared innocent enough.

The bed sheets were rumpled.

His eyes slammed shut.

_Oh, God._

Maybe she hadn't been able to control herself this morning. Maybe she'd writhed about on that bed as she was thinking about him and _him_ , losing herself in-

_No! Think about Lila Rossi._

Well, that killed "little Adrien" right quick. "Big" Adrien was an angel of mercy. It was for the best that he put the little guy out of his misery. Neither of them needed to be parkouring around Paris, showing off his bulge in a tight leather suit.

Thinking about "Chat Noir's bulge in a tight leather suit” was not the right way to go, obviously, not after what he'd done with that image that Marinette had "accidentally" sent him.

_Lila Rossi._

He grit his teeth. Not helping.

_Lila Rossi being a bitch._

_Lila Rossi lying._

Neither of those conjured images that were in any way different than simply thinking about "Lila Rossi."

_Lila Rossi sticking pins into that precious little doll of his princess._

A feral growl burst from his lips. That was working.

_Lila Rossi being the abjectly horrible little witch that she was._

_Lila Rossi getting her comeuppance for her misdeeds._

_Lila Rossi being punished._

_Lila Rossi being disciplined for being so vile by Marinette Dupain-Cheng wearing a leather cat-suit-_

“Nope!” Chat Noir barked as he opened his eyes and tired to short-circuit that line of thought.

Unfortunately, he was now staring at the bed once again, and it became clear that he had missed something in his original perusal of the room. A small swatch of black cloth sat right over the bump left in the comforter by the girl's pillow.

It was a mistake coming here. There was nothing that could be extracted from this place save madness. But he couldn't hold himself back from traipsing towards the bed, drawn in by the alluring, mysterious little splotch of black. Now, as Chat stood over it, his jaw quivered at the sight.

They were panties.

Because of course they were.

Apparently, while out of the house, girls left panties on their pillows. What a strange ritual. Adrien really must have been socially-stunted to be unaware of this _obviously_ entirely normal practice.

Fingers twitching and itching painfully with desire, he found himself reaching out in a haze and plucking the undergarments from the bed. Gently, so as not to tear them with his claws, he brushed over their smooth surface. They appeared to have been modified, displaying evidence of hand-stitching that affixed a second layer of lightly-padded fabric to the front. What could that possibly be for, he wondered while turning them over in his hand.

A shrieking cat-hiss spewed from his mouth, and he dropped the scrap of cloth as if it had burned him, tossing it to the bed.

There, seated atop the fabric that would cover the mons pubis, was a tiny, hand-sewn Chat-Noir-green paw print.

Having been thoroughly defeated by Marinette's room, Chat Noir beat a hasty retreat.

He'd beat other things later.

So much for not showing off his bulge to the city of Paris.

Thanks to a conscientious citizen who submitted a luckily-timed photo to the Ladyblog, the amount of erotic Chat Noir fan art posted on the relevant websites skyrocketed over the next few weeks.

He even started trending on twitter, or, rather, his bulge did.

Again, Chat was lucky that his skills as a detective were relatively poor, as he missed yet another mind-breaking piece of evidence that would have been revealed had he only tugged on the draw-string of Marinette's drop-down schedule of Adrien's activities. Should he have taken notice of the calendar, he would have found it to have been plastered over by two dozen printouts of artwork depicting Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste displaying themselves in various indecent fashions.

Which was completely and totally different from Lila's stash of Marinette photos because 1. they were illustrated _art_ instead of stalker photography, and 2. lacking any moral high ground, Chat would have given his consent to Marinette.

In an effort to work out some of his frustrations in a way that wouldn't leave him with carpal-tunnel syndrome and serious chaffing, Chat spent the next several hours vaulting through the city and running time-trials in races up the Eiffel tower. Then, after a particularly gruelling climb that left him sweating profusely, panting, and slicking his damp hair out of his eyes with a clawed hand, his attention was attracted by the Arc de Triomphe.

Largely because it was now walking down the street, crushing cars under.. foot?

Well, that seemed to rule out a lechery akuma as an explanation for Marinette's odd behaviour.

Maybe he'd been too quick to discount Lila's voodoo.

Land-Mark Larceny (government name Mark Laramie), was not a particularly difficult akuma to address, though things were far more challenging than they really should have been, especially after he sicced the Eiffel tower on them and Chat had to Cataclysm it again.

Thank you Miraculous Cure.

Ladybug had seemed particularly distracted throughout the entire affair, staring at his sweaty, flushed self while also smacking face-first into a few walls and a lamp-post.

She was clearly having a bad day, and he was so exhausted after his exercises this afternoon that what should have been a five minute battle with an-all-but-powerless akuma, who could vivify landmarks but had no means of actually defending himself, dragged on for a full half-hour.

Once the akuma had been purified and the requisite Miraculous Cure restored the crushed cars and settled the rambunctious landmarks, Chat extended a hand to Ladybug for their traditional fist-bump. She waved him off.  
  
“Chat, I need to talk with you,” she commanded sternly, unspooling her yo-yo and tossing it into the air. “Go recharge and meet me at rooftop four.”

“Rooftop four. Got it,” he acquiesced with a nod as he vaulted off to find a convenient nook in which to recharge Plagg. .

It didn't take particularly long for Plagg to stuff his face with Cammembert, which, in Adrien's view, was the only blessing of his gluttonous appetite. Then they were on their way to one of the duo's many prearranged meeting spots. Despite his haste, Ladybug was already waiting for him, reviewing something in her yo-yo's computer screen and stroking it slowly with one lazy finger. Her face was alight, expression unfamiliar as it was split by a half-seductive, half-disturbed smile.

“Hey, Bugaboo,” Chat said slowly as he landed and retracted his baton, clipping it to his belt. “Everything alright?”

“Oh, Chat!” she exclaimed in response, fumbling with her yo-yo for a moment in a quasi-fluster that he found infinitely cute. Some time with his Lady was exactly what he needed to get his mind off Marinette, though he still had a duty to figure out what the heck was going on with her.

“At your service, my Lady.” A deep gentlemanly bow was no-doubt required at this point, and he offered her one of his best flourishes. He was still at her beck and call, even if he really wanted to “serve” Mari-

_Gah!_

“Oh, that's _just_ want I wanted to hear, Minou.” When he rose from his bow, Ladybug was already too close, having seemingly sprung to stand before him, and then leaned even further into his personal space to stroke a hand down his leather-clad chest. Holy fuck did she smell good – like fresh bread and sweat which for some reason was sexy as hell. Her blue eyes pierced his costume and made him feel utterly, filthily naked. Fingers traced the piping of his suit, leading up to his bell, which she _fondled_ gently.

“You know Adrien Agreste, Chat?” she asked as her hand made its way to his chin. The smooth rubbery magical latex of her gloves scraped by the stubble that ran across his jaw, the sensation sending pleasant tingles through his entire head that pierced deep into his brain and robbed him of almost all coherent thought.

“Uh,” he half-laughed and half-stuttered. “W-who doesn't?”

“Then have you seen that new image that's been floating around his fan sites?” she purred the question.  
  
“New image?” This was not going well and wasn't he being unfaithful to Marinette?

_Wait. That didn't make any sense._

_Push on regardless. And stop talking to yourself._

“No I haven't seen any images of Adrien Agreste - I mean it's not like they're all that common, right?”

Yet another plaintive kitty whine built up in his throat when Ladybug pulled her fingers away and pointed behind him, encouraging him to turn his head slightly to gaze upon the glory that was a full billboard advertisement for _Adrien: The Fragrance_ complete with a side-view shot of Adrien, eyes closed in mirth as he leapt through the air as if buoyed by the lightness of his angelic spirit.

“Oh.”

“So, _Minou_ ,“ she began as she moved to scratch at him under the chin in just the right way to _melt_ him. “Did you see it?”

“Maybe,” he chuckled almost hysterically due to stress-inspired giddiness. “If we're talking about the same image. I mean. It's possible that I saw something else.”

“Oh, it was something else, alright,” she sighed blissfully. “So fucking _hot_.”

“R-really?”

“Are you kidding? The way you had him squirming, playing with him like he was a cute little mouse that you were going to gobble up?” Her face screwed up in delight, eyes glazing over as she passed her tongue over her plump, tempting lips. “Mmf. I had so much _fun_ with that last night.”

Marinette and Ladybug were having _fun_ last night, maybe even at the same time, while thinking about him -watching him as he, or at least a facsimile of him, teased a whimpering and desperate Adrien Agreste.

“You-” he squeaked. “You did?”  
  
“Sure. Any girl in the city would give her left arm to see that in person. Adrien's just about the hottest eligible bachelor in the city, and all that leather really shows off your cute butt.”  
  
“You think that my butt is cute?”

“Yeah.” She emphasize the affirmation by curling her hand around his body to squeeze said cute butt, inspiring him to yelp in a near yowl. Her strong hand and sure fingers _kneaded_ him like a cat showing affection... or searching for weak spots for the knife. “Can't you just imagine having Adrien's hands clutching at it as you pinned him against a wall, just like in the picture?”

“Well...”

“Think about how _hot_ he'd be against you.”

“Guh...”

His Lady pressed her body flush against him and rested her chin on his shoulder. Even with two layers of magical fabric between them, the sensation of the swell of her breast against his chest had him twitching.

Everywhere.

Suddenly her breath was hot against his human ear as she leaned in and caressed his jaw with the soft motion of her lips.

“Don't you just want to flip him over and show him what a _real_ man feels like until he starts begging you for it?”

He ripped himself away from her, stumbling backwards.

“Uh,” he began in a small, childish voice. ”Chat Noir needs to go home now.”

With that, he took off, without waiting for a response. He did get one, though, in the form of the ominously-arousing laughter that chased him across the Parisian rooftops as he fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you for all the responses and general interest that this story has accrued. 
> 
> I'm quite pleased to know that I've given you a few laughs along the way.


	5. Cupid is a Knavish Lad, thus to Make Females Mad.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plagg is a sad little kwami, and may be the last sane “person” left. Why can't people just let him eat his cheese in peace?
> 
> Adrien finally surrenders in his losing battle. 
> 
> Marinette makes yet more startling discoveries.
> 
> Tikki calls upon the dark gods of chaos.
> 
> Hawkmoth faces his deadliest challenge. 
> 
> "Things" come to a grand (?) climax, as opposed to all the other, smaller climaxes that came before and will come afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware, this is where I've decided to earn the 'M' rating.
> 
> Still no direct smut, but plenty of "stuff" that I would never include in a "teen-rated" work.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the last hurrah.

Plagg lived a hard life.

The little Deity of Destruction – capitalized because he had adopted that as an official title – lazed on the silk pillow that his chosen had been convinced to purchase for him after much pestering, nursing a lovely slice of Camembert as said wielder “took another shower.” He had been inspired by his encounter with a pair of paw-emblazoned panties yesterday afternoon.

With a * _plorp_ ,* a tiny dollop of warm Cammembert, heated to perfection by Adrien before he'd handed the wedges over, oozed out of Plagg's mouth and splattered on his utterly _emaciated_ chest - because ten to fifteen times his body weight in Camembert a day was a _starvation diet_.

It was a cruel, cruel world.

He lamented its barbaric injustices frequently, suffering under untold and innumerable burdens the like of which most mortals could ne'er fathom. There were at least, like, five burdens. He couldn't count any higher than that unless it involved enumerating the holes in a slice of Swiss cheese because counting was boring.

Incessant, crazed screams rang out from the hallway, and Plagg grumbled around the slice of Cammembert on which he was currently suckling while stroking the sides of her rind lovingly to try to comfort her and keep her in the mood. She was so _moist_ for him, as he pressed his mouth to her softest spot and began to eat her out of her rind (He ate that too afterwards).

“No! You can't stop me! No one can!” Lila Rossi cried out from just beyond Adrien's room, the sound growing fainter with each passing second, punctuated by several loud crashes. “I _will_ bring Marinette to her _knees_ before me! She _will_ kneel to me!”

Adrien probably didn't hear Gabriel Agreste's bodyguard tossing Lila to the curb, an astonishingly rare smile wide across his face. The fashion mogul had broken the news to the girl that he was terminating their affiliation in light of the information he had just received from the highly-paid and highly-placed police officers on his payroll.

The rush of steamy water in the shower likely drowned out her screams. Even if they didn't, Adrien was busy at the moment.

Ah, yes! That was one of Plagg's burdens: humans. Humans were ridiculous – an ignorant, savage, child race. All that ingenuity and millennia of technological advancement and what did they do with it? Cure diseases. Harness the power of the split atom. Land probes on other planets to expand the boundaries of their knowledge. Build 1000ft tall phallic monuments because they were so hard-up and sex-obsessed. 

What an abject waste.

Just think if all that industrial capacity and research had been devoted to developing new kinds of cheese.

They'd have brought heaven to Earth.

It was so-

"Plagg, I need to speak with your chosen!"

Plagg lolled over onto his bulbous belly, patting it lightly to soothe its contented rumbles and stared up at his Counterpart of Creation, who had just flitted in through the wide bay windows to Adrien's room. He quirked his head as he observed her. A strange, sticky kind of sweat seemed to coat her entire body, which itself was trembling almost violently. As if terrified that something was about to emerge from the invisible ether and fall upon her, she was casting her eyes about the room frantically, eyeing the corners.

Was she being chased by the Hounds of Tindalos? He really didn't want to deal with extradimensional dogs at the moment. There was a burden-and-a-half. Just like back in the '20s when-

“Come on! We don't have time!” Tikki wailed, dive-bombing Plagg's napping spot to grip his neck in both nubs and rattle him about roughly.

"What's the rush, babe?" Plagg questioned smoothly with a slow blink, one eyelid slightly behind the other, allowing himself to be kwamihandled without complaint, even though she was shaking his head like a maraca.

Fortunately, he was entirely safe as he had stuffed himself up to the brim with cheese. He was well-insulated.

Suck it, cheese-haters!

"You don't know what I've been through, Plagg!” Tikki screamed into his face.

Her breath smelled like cookies.

Plagg almost felt that he should be offended for some reason.

“She doesn't sleep! She doesn't eat! She just _sits_ there, naked at her desk, staring at her computer screen, trailing her finger over their bodies again and again! And she's _planning._ ” Tikki began in a wail but ended in a strange, almost awed hush or hiss as she slowed to a crawl, her vibrations transforming into trembles. “All the time. What she's going to do to him. What she's going to get him to do to himself and... himself."

"Wait,” Plagg commanded, brushing her aside and then clearing the spot of Camembert goo from his chest because he really should look dapper for his counterpart.

Also, he wanted to eat it, stuffing his entire little fist into his mouth and suckling up the remains of his Camembert.

As he pulled his paw from his mouth with a satisfying _*pop,*_ he released a belch that had Tikki recoiling for a moment.

“So she knows?” he queried at last. “How'd she figure it out?"

"I told her," Tikki said slowly, head falling in shame.

"Told her?” Plagg scoffed with a dismissive wave of his tiny black nub. “Tikki, you alright there, Sugar Cube? You know as well as I do that the miraculous magic means we _can't_ tell them, so how'd she really find out?"

"I. Told. Her."

"How?" came a strained voice.

The kwami started in shock as Adrien, face set with resolve, entered from the bathroom and strode towards them. His shoulders were thrown back and he would have appeared the portrait of stoic heroism ... had he been wearing something more than a Ladybug-spotted towel that had been marketed to six-year-old girls.

Nice pecs, though.

"Kid, I-"

"Not now, Plagg," Adrien dismissed the little deity, focusing his attention on Ladybug's kwami.

"This is serious. I only got the last part of that, but she knows who I am and is planning to make me-" Adrien stilled and steeled himself, taking a deep steadying breath, though his voice quivered with sorrow as he continued: "She's planning to make me do something _horrible_ to myself – something _so_ horrible that Tikki can't even say it. So how did she find out and what are we going to do about it?"

"Honestly,” Tikki began as she flitted away to Adrien's desk and scuffed her foot-nub into the tabletop as if she was abashed, “I told her. It's all my fault; I was weak."

"Okay, let's work through that,” Adrien began with a placating gesture towards Tikki. “Doesn't the magic of the miraculous prevent that? Has her miraculous been corrupted or damaged in some way?" Without waiting for a reply, he growled and slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand. “Of course it is! I should have realized something was wrong yesterday.”

"No spell is inviolable, Adrien."

"Tik, that's nuts,” Plagg opined. “The amount of creation energy that you'd have to pull on to build a metaphysical work-around for one of the fundamental wards in the miraculous would be like me roping in that asteroid, like, sixty million years back."

"I didn't mean to. It was defensive instinct. You don't know what she put me through," the red kwami said, drooping even further.

“What could she have done that was so terrible?” Adrien asked.

"You can't understand. Neither of you can,” Tikki whispered, curling in on herself in terror. “[You haven't seen the heart of darkness.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKcAYMb5uk4&t=0m9s)"

"Babe,” Plagg boasted, shinning his nubby paw against his chest fur. “I _am_ the heart of darkness."

Tikki turned her attention to Adrien.

“The fetid winds of madness flayed my flesh to the rhythmic tintinnabulations of daemonic bells...”

Plagg rolled his little paw in a “get on with it” gesture and began to make “blah blah” motions behind Tikki's back.

Adrien did not appear amused, even though Plagg was _hilarious_. Everyone was a critic. People and kwami could be such drama queens.

“... that echo down the malignly shadowed corridors of time, vigintillions of years of blind, purposeless universal contraction and expansion - a repetitious farce consuming all in nihilistic pandemonium. There is no going back now that I have struggled through black arcades of horror to stare into the unplumbed abyss that is the mind of a horny Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Wait, what?” Adrien exclaimed suddenly, breaking his silent contemplation of the purple prose that was washing over him as his expression grew increasingly concerned for the little kwami who seemed to have cracked. “ _Horny!_? And what does Marinette have to... do...”  
  
“Oh, _fuck_!” Tikki swore, the word drawn out to the extreme, slamming a nub into Adrien's work desk, scattering papers and waking his computer from sleep mode. “I did it again!”

“Marinette... is Ladybug?”

“Tik,” Plagg began, and he floated down to put a paw on her shoulder. “I think that you need to relax.”

“She's going to kill us all, Plagg!” The red kwami released a suitably inhuman howl like some form of miniature red banshee and grabbed Plagg's face between her nubs, pinching his rubbery head that squeaked like a dog's chew toy under the pressure until it felt like it was going to pop in a fashion reminiscent of a bloated puss-filled pimple, scattering kwami brains and cheese across the table.

This situation was truly entirely unfair and unnecessary. Why couldn't everyone in the world just settle down and eat cheese? Then everything would be perfect. Just stop sweating the small stuff.

“Do you get it? We're all going to _die!_ “ Tikki continued, releasing Plagg, who worked his jaw slowly, trying to get rid of the ache.

“Marinette is _Ladybug_.”

It was at this point that, due to a sizable disruption, Adrien's far too small towel (as it was made for six-year-old girls) fell off, leaving his 6'1,” 190lb, 6% body-fat self exposed to the world.

Speaking of things that would bring Marinette Dupain-Cheng to her knees, though not in front of Lila Rossi unless she became Chameleon again, in which case "Adrien's" out-of-character demeaning comments would probably just make it hotter...

“Like I said,” Plagg began as he gazed at his counterpart, continuing to ignore Adrien because that was _always_ the healthiest thing to do. “Let's set you down with some cookies and milk and you can relax.”

“I can relax when I'm _dead_!” Tikki continued, likewise disregarding Adrien's latest breakdown. “Because then creation itself will no longer exist and the entire multiverse will collapse because the infinite cycle of universal formation and dissolution will become unmoored and I'll be out of a job!” She smashed her nubs together to emphasize her point. “Because I'll be _dead_! Just like everyone else.”

“Okay.” Plagg reassured her, taking the hyperventilating little red kwami by the wrist and trying to get her to sit down. “We just need to get you away from Marinette for a little while. She's not a good influence on you.”

“ _Marinette_ is Ladybug.”

“Yeah,” Plagg sighed. “We got that. Thank you, Kid.”

“ _Marinette_ is _Ladybug_.” Adrien's eyes started to dart around the room. He sounded as if he was struggling through some Earth-shattering issue, fitting the pieces together- like trying to decide whether Munster or Pont l’Eveque was the second-best form of cheese after Camembert.

“Tikki, you already broke yours. Why did you have to break mine too?” Plagg kvetched with a roll of his eyes, gesturing towards his stunned chosen who was wobbling on unsteady legs. Well, at least two of the three. One _leg_ was very steady. 

“ _Marinette_ is _Ladybug_ and she thinks about me... naked.” Adrien's voice pitched upwards on the word “naked” which came out closer to “neckid.”

“It just slipped out,” Tikki replied apologetically before she began staring at the wall with a blank expression. “I've destroyed _everything_. Without Adrien, now there's no hope,” she keened, tearing up. “No hope at all.”

“ _Marinette is Ladybug_!” Adrien whooped and laughed, clenching his fists and raising them above his head as if he was cheering the victory of his favorite basketball team,

“Geez, Kid. Tell the neighborhood, why don't you?” Plagg muttered.

Rather than retorting as he often would, Adrien leapt towards his computer and booted up his web browser.

“Kid, what are you doing?” Plagg questioned. “Don't be stupid like you usually are. We've got to think this through.”

“I've _been_ thinking this through, Plagg,” Adrien reassured the kwami steadily as he tapped away his keyboard. “That's all that I've been doing since I saw that fan-art, and I know _exactly_ what I have to do.”

After a silent moment of contemplation, Plagg grumbled.

“Okay, I trust you. So what's the plan, Kid?” the little Deity of Destruction inquired with a reassuring nod towards Tikki, who was currently rocking herself slowly on the table, her arms clutching desperately at a comfort cookie. Chocolate chip. Her favorite. Though as she had just conjured it through sheer force of will only moments earlier, it was red with black spots. She cradled and stroked it like a mewling infant, muttering about how "it's going to be alright" and that "momma's here." 

Plagg floated to Adrien's desk and cast an inquisitive glance up at his wielder's face.

In that moment, Plagg became indistinguishable from the hypothetical kwami of “Chat Blanc,” the black bleeding from his entire mystical body as he blanched a ghostly white at the twisted, manic expression on Adrien's face.

“K-kid?”

“Quiet, Plagg. I've got research to do and money to spend.”

***

The next morning while Adrien played hooky for the third day in a row (Nathalie was at this moment assembling the best team of psychiatrists money could buy after forcing Adrien to see three specialists yesterday afternoon.), Marinette sat in an empty classroom. It had been cleared out by the strange, malevolent aura that emanated from her as she fiddled with her nail polish to get just the _right_ gloss on that Chat Noir green just as she had been doing for two hours last night between, well, time spent enjoying herself in front of her computer.

When had she gone to bed again?

Right.

Last Sunday.

A text message caused her phone to light up. Capping the bottle of nail polish and waggling her hand to dry her nails more quickly, she scooped up her phone and unlocked it.

Her thighs clenched together.

Adrien had just sent her a text message.

How sweet.

He was such a sweet boy

She could just eat him right up.

Like a little sunshine cookie.

Cookie sounded kind of like cock.

That was funny.

Better yet, have him eat himself.

Metaphorically.

Vore and ... autophagy – was that even the right word? - were still _way_ too far.

She giggled.

 _**Sunshine Stud:** _ _Hello, My Lady. I'm sorry, but something is terribly wrong with you. I've done my research, and spent a small fortune on this. Please, let me help you. No matter what happens, I'll always love you, Marinette._

Marinette recoiled from the text message in shock as her heart melted. He _loved_ her.

Adrien loved her.

Chat loved her.

Chatdrien - More like _Chad_ rien with that bulge that was currently the centrepiece of the Ladyblog's latest article and had just spawned the "Cat Bulge" sub-reddit in honor of the bulge that launched a thousand fan works (it was actually _way_ more than that). _Mmm_. - loved her.

She fiddled with her cell phone for a moment.

He said it.

What was the other thing?

Oh, right. “My Lady.”

How was it possible that he knew who she was?

Had she allowed something to slip when last they met?

The ding that signaled the arrival of another text message sounded out, though there was only a small emoticon and an attached image.

 _ **Chadrien :**_ _(=^･ｪ･_ _^=)_

A pair of blond-haired, green-eyed “Mutli-Mice,” beads of sweat trailing the divots of their pronounced, sinuous muscles as they trembled with pleasure on unsteady legs, sandwiching Ladybug between them, her legs pressed up into the air almost to her chest so that she was supported only by their combined strength as the two absolute _studs_ plundered each other's mouths over her shoulder.

Another ding.

Ladybug, bent over the edge of a rooftop, her upper torso bare, exposed to the street below so that everyone in the city could _see_ her, her face alight with mind-numbing pleasure, eyes screwed up in ecstasy as copious trails of drool ran down her chin from the mouth that was blown open in a scream (the exact instructions for the “emergency commission” had stipulated “ahegao face” because Adrien _had_ done his research and was a weeb like that). A nude Adrien Agreste, the obvious source of her ecstasy, “stood” behind her.

A third ding.

Marinette and Ladybug, laying on the ground, bodies meeting at the crux like two pairs of .. half-open scissors.

A fourth.

The most detailed image: Ladybug, an invisible zipper having been pulled down to expose her entire torso and make it clear that the magical suit dispelled civilian clothing, undergarments and all. She lay on a rooftop, half exposed to the gaze of Chat Noir who was perched on a nearby chimney.

Noticeably absent were his pants.

He had clearly extended his ... staff.

Evidence suggested that it did get "thicker."

It really _was_ rather ornate.

Marinette fanned herself with a hand.

She needed a drink.

His tail, though it was stock still in the image, seemed to flick about his feet lazily. Ladybug was only “half-exposed” because laying over her body, facing the other direction and occupying Ladybug's lips though not with a kiss, was a certain familiar mouse. Her pink and grey suit was shredded in strategic locations as if by the magical claws of a wild animal.

It was likely the same _animal_ that had torn up certain important areas of Ladybug's costume as well, which seemed to suit the mouse's ... tastes quite well.

“Girl, you've got good taste.”  
  
“What? Taste?" Marinette gasped. " What?” She slammed her phone to the desk. Tastes. That was not to her tastes at all. She only like one kind of meal. Only cookies for her.

“Lady-Mouse?” Alya grinned with a saucy wink as she settled in next to her best friend. “Great ship.”

“Is it?”  
  
“Yeah.” Alya hummed in a way that was suspiciously close to a moan. “Can you imagine getting in on that?”

What was it that “Ladybug” had said about Marinette when she asked Chadrien to look after her during the Evillustrator incident?

_Her name is Marinette. Pretty cute, right?_

_Yeah..._

_That's right._

_She is pretty cute._

_Am I talking to myself?_

_Yes._

_Oh. It's a pleasure to meet you, then. My name is Marinette. What's yours?_

_Also Marinette._

_What a coincidence._

_Your friend is waiting for you to answer._

_Thank you._  
  
“I-I thought that you were,” Marinette stumbled and then composed herself. That was old Marinette. Not new, cool, confident (insane) Marinette. “I thought that you had a thing for Ladybug and that was it.”  
  
“Still figuring it all out, you know?” Alya shrugged and then began fiddling absently with the materials on her desk while a flush darkened her tan skin. “Guess I've just got a thing for cute half-Asian girls, no matter what they're wearing.”

Oh.

“Even if it's a Chat Noir dress or,” she coughed, shifting her chair closer to Marinette, its legs squeaking against to floor, so that she could toss an arm around the other girl's shoulder and stare at Marinette's boobs unashamedly, “nothing at all.”

_Oh!_

That night, Marinette slept, and while she _did_ dream of Ladybug pinning her to a wall and caressing every inch of her body through skin-tight grey magical latex before Chat Noir stalked in from the shadows to assist his Lady by ripping off the mouse's super suit, she did _not_ dream of Alya participating.

No. Instead, her best friend was off to the side with her cell phone, taking amateur video footage to post on a new section of the Ladyblog that required age verification.

The reporter _was_ “neckid,” though.

And "enjoying herself."

When Marinette awoke, a final text message awaited her, complete with an attached image.

Fear seized her limbs, paralyzing her lungs to the point that they screamed for air, until finally some ancient fight of flight response prodded her hand forward to tap at the attached image. '

One image. One figure.

Chat Noir, laying out on a Parisian rooftop while at the same time... standing proudly, clothed in nothing but a tempting smirk, his domino mask, and a tail that was _firmly_ attached to his body, but _not_ by a belt.

His toxic-green eyes invited her in - promised _delicious_ , _fulfilling_ sin that would send her straight to hell.

She didn't have enough of that in her diet.

 _**Chadrien:** _ _My bedroom or yours?_

Marinette sat in her bed for roughly ten minutes, flipping back and forth between the image of Chat Noir and the work of fan art that had started everything.

It was tough work being an art critic.

 _**Perverted Pastry Princess:** _ _yours_

The response was immediate.

 _**Chadrien:** _ _Bring the mouse and snake miraculi._

 _**Perverted Pastry Princess:** _ _why?_

 _ **Chadrien:**_ _I want to use “second chance” another 25,913 times_.

Why would...

Oh. Clever cat.

Tikki, tucked into a corner and praying for salvation at a makeshift alter to whatever God or Devil gods prayed to was too far gone to complain about the misuse of the Miraculous for “personal” reasons. The little red and black-spotted MacGyver had constructed the only possible means of her deliverance out of a matchbook, discarded toothpicks, drained batteries, and some chewing gum.

Contrary to the kwami's prognostications, the world did _not_ end, and things generally returned to normal after Marinette and Adrien got all that repression and sexual tension out of their systems, slowly crawling, groping, nipping, suckling, grinding, licking, dripping, mouthing, moaning, inching, thrusting, humping, sweating, swearing, and generally _banging_ their way back to sanity.

In fact, things even improved. Hawkmoth's assaults against the city came to a mysterious end after an Akuma happened upon Adrien Agreste having a small orgy with a team of “Multimice” on a random rooftop, which, coincidentally, happened on the same day that Gabriel Agreste died of a simultaneous heart-attack and aneurysm.

So, 1 out of 5 on Tikki prophecy, as Marinette managed to kill one party involved. The other two parties aside from Adrien and Marinette were Multimouse and the girl she was making out with at the time: Multimouse. 

Adrien was not the only person who learned how to get bi in life when the situation called for it.

Though Adrien mourned his father's loss for a time, he came to realize that everyone in Paris was much happier now.

That kind of became clear when only he and Nathalie attended the funeral while the entire staff at _Gabriel_ rented a convention center for a "going away" party of sorts. The venue was overbooked a day after the news broke, leading the spillover to adopt an American tradition by holding a tailgate party in the parking lot.

Events like this only came once in a lifetime.

For his part, Plagg was then comfortable spitting on Gabriel Agreste's grave.

And, as he always dreamed, he and his cheese lived happily ever after.

Except for the fact that he _did_ have a vore fetish when it came to cheese, so he ate it, but he was able to move on and find love again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it, four chapters longer than I had originally planned. I hope that you all have had as much fun reading this story as I've had writing it, starting out with light crack and ending with the hard stuff as we descended into the surreal.
> 
> I'd love to know your thoughts or your favorite line, if you enjoyed the work, and, if not, let me know why.
> 
> If you're interested in something a little bit sweeter than crack, your might try my Miraculous Ladybug story "A Delicate Balance of Flavours" about a trio of dorks in love, and the other crack fics in this series have a similar tone to this one, particularly "An Unexpected (Coming Out) Party." 
> 
> But whatever you do, thank you for all your feedback, your expressions of amusement, and the simple act of reading through this story.

**Author's Note:**

> ... I'll see myself out.


End file.
